2142: Outbreak
by DeKarbon
Summary: Sergeant Marc Hemmer is one of the only Americans to fight in the war across the seas, the country fighting its own battles at home. Follow him and his newly formed squad as they attempt to uncover the secrets of the Battle Field, 2142.


2142:

Outbreak

Marc ran through the street, his feet throwing up the fresh snow that was still falling. His HUD said that this city was free of the vermin that called themselves the PAC, but he still had to be cautious. _Machines can break. Eyes don't. _His old DI's words echoed through the nothingness that was his head.  
He slid into the shadow that was of the building and kept as close to the wall as his rucksack and bulky armor would let him be. He gripped the SCAR 11 close to his body and took a look around the corner. Nothing but snow. But that snow could easily turn into a flurry bullets. Hopefully that only happened on the front lines.

He swept the barrel across the street and watched closely for anything that shouldn't be there. _And what, exactly, is that?_ He contemplated this as he ran down the street onto yet another empty street. This time he decided to find some shelter and warm himself up.  
Marc let the SCAR hang on its strap and pulled out his pistol. He looked over his shoulder regularly as he tried to open one of the doors to a building without breaking the door too much.  
He decided the second floor was as good as any, and blasted apart the lock with the eight rounds in the revolver. Just then, he raised the P33 and looked at it. By far, it was the most beautiful gun he had ever used. Marc pulled the magazine out and slid another one in.

He holstered the pistol and slid the SCAR's strap so the rifle was on his back. He walked around the building for a while, just scanning for anything useful. Desks for firewood, a frozen pack of cigarettes, and an ornate lighter. He knew how to work the things, so he tried it. Warmth shot out and nearly burnt his glove off his hand.

Marc thought as he went on searching, Don't smoke, but I will after this is over. He slid the cigarettes and lighter into a pouch for safe keeping. It wasn't a too long before Marc craved the warmth again. He searched for some stairs and found an old escalator. Frozen, too. Nice touch... Marc thought loudly enough for whoever was actually controlling their lives to hear.

He stepped onto the escalator's first step and slipped, hitting his head and cracking his visor. Damn. They told me it was bulletproof. He slid the visor up and decided he really needed that damn lighter right now. He decided to hell with the second floor or the damn shot out door.

He grabbed a desk and slammed it on the frozen ground a few good times to make sure it was broken. Snaps echoed through the building and shards of ice went into his gloves. He could feel them pricking his hand, and decided to start shooting the wood away. The high velocity rounds tore through the frozen wood and it splintered.

He pulled out the lighter, looked at the frozen wood, back at the lighter and put it back into the pouch. He pulled out a flare from his rucksack and ignited it, throwing it into the pile of shredded wood. Amazingly, as if by divine wish, the flare stood straight up with the flaming end pointing into the wood.

He waited for the fire to get going, and sat with his back to a frozen desk. He unconsciously put his hand on his pistol's holster as he sat there, thinking of nothing. Then, It must be nice to think of nothing. Bam, thousands of thoughts all flooded in at the same time. He felt the warmth of the flame reaching him, and he finally stopped shivering under his armor.

He rummaged through his rucksack for an MRE and stoked the fire at the same time. He slid the visor down over his face and surfed through the channels on his radio. Marc 'flipped' through them so fast, that he hardly heard the Russian word that had been spoken. He went back to that channel and heard nothing. He stayed in that channel for almost an hour, and still nothing. He decided to try something that he had learned from a few of the new tech guy in his unit. Before his unit had been sent to the front.

He pulled an MRE out of his rucksack and tore it open. He pulled out some of its contents, and put it on the floor near the fire. Then he tuned out of that channel, and went back before he even heard the pop. Then he heard a few cautious Russian words. He didn't understand any of it, but he did have the helmet recorder on, so he could play it back to someone who actually understood Russian.

"We need more time to prepare, Kladenskii, or the program will be ruined before it even started!" Marc sat up straighter.

"Fine! But if you take anything more than a month, I will have your head!" He knew that voice. He had heard it before, in Berlin, when the PAC had been broadcasting messages to the remnants of the EU forces there. General Kladenskii was the supreme commander of all the PAC forces in the European theater. And the man who was talking to him was acting as though he were nothing.

He waited for a while. He slid the visor up and made sure that his throat mic was securely muffled, then pulled whatever had been in the MRE away from the fire and tore open the bag. He used a small plastic spork to spoon and stab what looked like some sort of stew, with red meat and some vegetables. Marc wondered if the meat was some new synthetic compound that looked and tasted like meat without any of the side effects that raw, real meat came with. He lifted the utility spork to his lips and tasted the stew. It was horrible, but it was all he was getting from that MRE. He swallowed with much difficulty and spooned and stabbed another round. He concentrated on the radio, hoping to hear anything else from the man whose voice he recognized. He tasted more of the horrible stew and swallowed it.

"Make sure that the lines are ready when we release them. They only respond to actions against them, so tell your soldiers not to fire on their new allies when they see them."

"Right. You just make sure that our new allies are finished before this world is completely uninhabitable."

"They will be." There was nothing afterwards from the man who was running the project.

"Blasted fool." Marc swallowed some more stew and sat there, basking in the glow and warmth of the flames that were licking closer and closer to him. He stood up and threw the rest of the MRE pack into the fire. He slid the visor down over his face again, tuned out of that channel on the radio and started to search for an EU bandwidth.

He stepped away from the fire, walking towards the open door. He heard the faint rumble of engines and kept walking to the door. He felt as though the sound were nothing but his imagination. Then it grew louder and louder. He finally got outside and looked around. He slipped his SCAR off of his back and shouldered it tight enough to cause his arm muscles to ache. He walked close to the side of the  
building and kept checking his surroundings as the rumbling got louder. He rounded a corner and watched as his breath hung in the air like fog. Marc stopped, turned around and peeked around the corner.

Nothing. He turned around and kept going the way he had been. He used the small radar on his visor to keep an eye on where everything in the town was. He felt extremely uneasy, as though there were several pairs of eyes watching him. There probably were, knowing the stealth technologies that were deployed all over the world. At the next intersection, he took a right and continued walking. He stopped and picked something up out of the snow. He looked at it and threw it across the street. He looked around at his feet and picked something else up. He looked at it for a few seconds, then dropped it a little ways away from where it had been.

He started walking again and took a left at the next intersection. He ran across the street and stood in the middle of a small alleyway. He looked around and waited for something. The rumble of engines had grown ever louder, and Marc got calmer and calmer. He shut his eyes, let his SCAR drop on its strap and let his arms dangle at his sides. He heard the faint crunch of snow close to him and drew his knife out of its sheath. In one fluid motion, he slit the man's throat and bicep as he turned around. He stabbed the knife into the man's eye and twisted, like a key in a lock. He pulled it out and the snow seemed to make its own blood and depress on its own until the IT-33 Active Camouflage device faltered. Marc searched the body for weapons and found another knife and a pistol. Marc slid the camouflage device out of the man's hand and put it into a pouch for his use later. He pulled his rifle tight across his chest  
and started walking again. He started to shiver. It came just as fast as the warmth from the fire had, and for some reason it was occupying his thoughts. He slapped the side of his helmet and shook his head  
slightly.

He started to think about what would happen if he was caught. Then he got the feeling that he was being watched. Damn snipers. He started to get a little bit jittery, probably from the slowdown of the steady stream of adrenaline in his system. His eyes darted from area to area. The sound of the engine had stopped, shortly after he had killed the man. He started to speed up, wanting to get out of the city before anyone else found him. Marc twisted around as he heard an explosion, nearly slipping and falling on the ice beneath the slight snow cover. He heard the debris falling against the frozen windows. He turned around and started to run. He slid around a corner and dove into the snow as a rifle rocket whizzed past him.  
He picked himself up and started to run again, twisting around at the hip to look behind him. He heard a loud whining, and a Hachimoto shot out from behind the corner. Marc pulled out a grenade and lobbed it toward them. It exploded just as they passed over it, but the gunner had gotten one rocket off. He let himself fall and the rocket went right where his head had been. The Hachimoto's fried husk slid close to him. Amazing for a snap shot. Marc got up again and slid to a stop at a corner. He looked around, got his bearings, and charged off in another direction. He heard gunshots and twisted around. He sighted down the low power scope on his SCAR and snapped a few quick shots off. Only one of the three figures fell. He ran away from them, hopelessly firing from the hip.  
Another man went to the ground, but he was still firing. He prepared himself to take a few rounds. He slammed himself to the ground before he heard anymore shots and pushed himself around to face the attackers. He aimed down the sights again and pulled the trigger four times. Three rounds connected with the prone man's face, while the other round ripped through the standing man's leg. He stood up and started running again. He heard the rumbling of an engine and he slid to a stop just before the snow in front of him seemingly exploded. The concussive force threw him onto his back and his vision blacked out for a second. An APC rumbled out onto the street and the snow was thrown up into the air as bullets from its machine gun peppered the ground.  
Marc shook away his grogginess and stood up, switching the settings on his rifle as he did so. He whipped around and sprayed the APC, then fired a rifle rocket as the magazine emptied. The automatic fire paused and Marc used the time to dive behind a large piece of building that had fallen when the city had. He pulled the Active Camo device out of his pouch and activated it. He tried to control his breathing as he waited for the APC to come around the corner and drive by. He swallowed a few times, then he heard the APC's engine rumble. His body shivered as his brain finally became aware of everything that had just happened to his body.  
Especially how cold it was. He took a calming breath just before the APC rumbled into his peripheral vision. He stayed as still as he could, knowing that even a full body camouflage device had its faults. He followed the APC with his eyes as it fired at shadows. It finally rumbled out of his peripheral vision and he twisted his head slightly to watch it round a corner. Just as it was completely out of sight the IT-33 overheated and he winked back into existence. He stood up after he slipped the device back into his pouch and started to walk in the other direction of the APC.  
He quickened his pace after a few seconds and started running, his rifle dangling behind on its strap. He felt a heavy gust of wind that nearly stopped him. Then he heard the rumbling of the APC's engines and twisted around. He saw it come around the corner, and that was all he needed to start running. He ran even when he felt a bullet cut into the calf of his leg. He heard a loud whining and dove to the ground. Then he heard the APC explode and an EU gunship flew over him. A few seconds later, a transport ship landed near him.  
One of its miniguns was roaring and sending some PAC troops behind cover. Three troops jumped out of the bay and into the snow. Two provided cover for the medic while he checked Marc for injuries. The medic helped Marc up and all four of them walked to the transport ship. The minigun still roared as they took off, and Marc watched as his breath flew away behind them. The gunship that had come to his rescue fell into formation and Marc waved at the pilot, who waggled his wings back at him. He smiled and looked at his assault rifle for some reason, and reloaded it. Then he just sat back and fell asleep.


End file.
